


Yoga Pants and Tunics

by Dash (Cydney)



Category: Super Smash Brothers, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, Wii Fit (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Female POV, First Person Perspective, I don't really know what else to put here, MILF, Yoga pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 18:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cydney/pseuds/Dash
Summary: The Wii Fit Trainer is a mature woman. Single. In the prime of her life. Juggling a career as a personal trainer, a fighter in the Smash league and sharing equipment with her counterpart. In a word: stressed. When the young veteran Hylian offers to help, she knows just how she'd like to unwind.





	Yoga Pants and Tunics

_My better half always liked the idea of the Wii Fit Trainer being an almost-40, single and shameless milf-type with a penchant for younger athletes. She also suggested I try writing a female POV. Two birds with one massage table.~_

_It goes without saying that I do not own the characters used within (something which I'm sure we're all grateful for.)_

**Yoga Pants and Tunics**

_Wii Fit Trainer x Link_

* * *

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. At least that's what I tell other people to say to themselves. A little buttery-bland, but with so many younger hipsters balancing on one leg and sighing "Namaste'" like it were a motto, I couldn't quite bring myself to go down that path. And if I'm going to get back into the swing of things and make it work for me, I'm going to have to set myself apart from the rest of the herd.

I spare a few more minutes in front of my mirror. I'd say I'm looking desirable for my age. Thirty-eight is the new eighteen, after all. And I've always looked after myself. You don't make a career in fitness and physical health without keeping everything loose and toned. I stretch one leg and bulge my hip. Oh, I rock the tight compression pants, I truly do. The sleeveless tank top might look a bit cliché, but it's a classic. It hugs my narrow waist and flatters my boobs nicely. All part of my new business model.

Okay – I'm not after the "sultry MILF" look, but let's be real here. I'm living (and soon to be working) in a studio apartment in some building that hosts inter-dimensional fighters. And thanks to that little location, I'm only allowed to have small classes and private therapy sessions. No blaring speakers with hip dance tracks while twenty people follow along on the floor or I'll be out on my shapely ass in no time. So if I'm going to make this work again, I'm going to need to reel in some loyal customers. Lure in some folks with my age-defying looks and warm personality, and the whole "come to a nice quiet home instead of grinding in a public studio across town."

It'll work. It's  _going_  to work.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Not going to let some of those little dark thoughts spoil things for me. I take another look in the mirror and slowly turn. My butt is nice and tight. My legs? Please. I could probably model for some superhero in the comics with these girls. I lift my top up and touch my belly. Everything is tight without going over the top. There's just the little peaks and bumps of some winning abdominal's in there. I'm strong without overdoing it.

My tits are the tits of a thirty-eight-year-old woman. They're a bit heavier than when I was younger. But my chest is still pretty. I'm big boobed without being top heavy. I'm pretty. I've got pale, creamy skin and petite features.

I take it back. I'm a total MILF, and I'm single, and I'm working from home. Celebrate it, Trainer. Make it work for you.

My mirror winks back at me. Oh yeah. Time to take life by the balls and make it work for me.

* * *

"I'm going to find that assistant and drag him up by the balls," I mutter aloud. Okay. Maybe tomorrow will be the big one. Lord knows where today went. I take a look around my studio. It's roomy and warm and welcoming. And empty. Too fucking empty. By lunchtime, I was planning on having some of the smaller stuff assembled and arranged. I was hoping to have the balance bars bolted to the wall if nothing else. But for anything that major I need approval from the powers (or giant gloves) that be.

Now, I know I'm fortunate there. I've only ever talked to either of them over the phone, but they seemed okay with the idea of some fitness going on upstairs. But they made it clear that before I started screwing holes in the walls for things I need to run it by them first before they send a veteran over to do the job. Just to make sure I'm not going to go ahead and drill a hole into some pipe or something, I presume. I can appreciate that.

In the meantime, I've still got to find a way to get my massage table over to my male counterpart. Because strictly speaking, we both own it, and while I've had it for a month, he's reminded me that I'm obligated to drop it off to him. It only weighs a ton. And he's really going to impress those Princesses by showing off his back rub skills, I'm sure. It's not like I can get any real use out of a collapsible massage table when I'm going back to work as a personal trainer or anything, right?

Dick.

So lunch has come and gone. I want to get my new home ready for work and living in. I've got to get my curvy butt over to the other Trainer's door away on the other side of the lot with a big ass table to lug. And I'm still waiting for the veteran to come and shower his blessing over my unwrapped, non-assembled equipment.

Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life.

I might have spent a little too long standing in my organised clutter and growling because when the door knocks, it's enough to make my heart thump a little harder. Oh, please let that be them and please let them be merciful with my home. I offer a prayer to Giant Glove Gods and their helpers, asking for blessings of having a decent one.

"Misses Trainer? I've been sent over to offer assistance."

"Coming!" The voice on the other side is kind of rough and scratchy. I don't know why but I expected them to send the short Italian over. I've crossed the room in no time, padding along the hard floor until I'm at the door. Just a quick check in the mirror first. Long dark hair tied back? Check. Clothes okay? Double check. I'm not stupid – I know they might be a little more helpful towards the hot older woman who's trying to get her life back on track.

"Hi, I'm the Wii Fit Trainer! Welcome!" I pull open the door with a beam, stepping aside and waiting. And trying to hide just how surprised I am. 'The veteran' is more like 'the baby.' Not terribly tall but well developed, with messy gold hair and long ears. I was expecting someone older, or a handyman of sorts. Not… this.

"Sorry for the lateness," he says as he steps in. Oh, sweet child. Don't you worry about it. "It's just me helping today and… there's a lot of people here. I'm Link."

"I imagine you're rather busy," I say. He looks it. Decked out in a tunic and belts galore. There's this little jingle sound that seems to advertise how much equipment he's got tucked away with him, and there's a well-travelled, roguish look about him behind his youth. A little texture and edge in his soft features. I won't lie. When I first started teaching yoga and physical fitness, I was his age, and I used to fantasise about having a studio full of men like him. Lean and handsome and fit and just staring at me as I jumped around in my tight clothes.

It turns out those thoughts don't just vanish and die when you become a professional mascot for a fitness entertainment brand. They just wait until you're standing in front of a handsome young babe and you're wearing yoga pants before coming back with a vengeance. Who'da thunk it?

"Well, it's not too bad. Keeps me off the streets, you know." He laughs, and it's nice. There's a timbre in it that doesn't quite suit him, but I wouldn't mind hearing more of it. "So, what can I do for you Missers Trainer?"

"Miss," I say. I can't help it. Link here needs to know that it's Miss. Okay? It's important. Oh, and he's looking at me with confusion, and it's cute.

"Well, it's just Link for me, if you'd like."

Oh, I would like.

"Well, can I get you a drink, Link? I've got some smoothies and some juices and… yeah." Oh, there's some wine, but I'd sooner not appear to be the single older woman who drinks alone just yet, thank you very much. Besides, those are saved for special bathtub times.

"Whatever's easiest," he says so casually. "I guess with the fitness studio you specialise in that sort of stuff?"

"Take care of your insides, Link," I tell him. "And they'll take care of you." He's smiling again, and I find myself liking it even more. He's just… friendly. A nice guy, and if he's one of the veterans (which feels silly for his youth), I want to get along well with him. If I'm going to be dragging him back up every time I need to hang a poster or shift some equipment it only makes sense to be friends with the maintenance man.

And he's got a lovely face, too. Angular and handsome and expressive. God, it's been too long since I've seen a man be expressive. The other Trainer enjoyed playing the role of "Mr Granite Features" far too much. I can't for the life of me work out why a forty-year-old needed to look and act so cool.

I forget about my counterpart. For now, I busy myself with opening my little fridge and sorting through whatever I've got in the way of cold and tasty. Some strawberry smoothie, some kiwis… Mm, maybe orange juice? I bite my lip. It's silly, but I don't want to be the older lady offering the nice younger man some orange juice. It's just a little… No, I don't want to do that. It's the same as being lonely and drinking on your own.

"Do you want a coffee instead?" I call out. I can hear him moving about around the corner of my kitchenette.

"Maybe next time," he says, and I'm already planning on holding him to it. For now, I pour him a glass of chilled water and close the fridge. In no time I'm back in my little work space and find him examining all the equipment I've got.

Make a mental note to get this boy to come to a class or two, Trainer. Not that he really needs it, but there's no denying he's looking interested in it all.

"Thanks, Miss Trainer," he says as I offer him the glass.

"You can just call me Wii, if you like." I'd much rather him call me something more colourful and possessive than my title, but baby steps first. And he's smiling and nodding and sipping. Good boy.

"So, this is all yours?" He's gesturing all around the room, but mostly the collection of pipes that makes up my balance bar. Right. Because that's the reason I called for someone to come up here, I think.

"You don't have to worry," I urge. "I'm not about to set up a sound system and some skip ropes. It's all just quiet equipment for different things. But  _this_  is what I really wanted to ask you about." I bend over to pick up a piece of my bar. And then I bend a little further. I really push my butt back up. It's a cute butt, and I'm having fun. God knows it's been a long time since I've enjoyed myself a little bit.

The perks of being a single woman. But for now, I just pick my piece up and hold it against the wall.

"It's for leaning against while practising gymnastics, see? So its bolted to the wall in a few places and I wanted to double check with you if it's okay." And now I'm biting my lip, and it's nothing playful or anything silly like that. I need this bar assembled if I'm going to make my new situation work.

"It shouldn't be too much of a problem," Link hums. He's had another drink and put the glass down before he takes the bar from me. And oh, he's got such lovely big hands. Broad and hard and rough. Workers hands. Of course, they're workers hands! He spends his days putting bricks back into the wall and using wrenches on steam pipes and helping distressed, single women putting their apartments together while wearing nothing but faded slacks.

Focus, girl.

"It's really not heavy at all, is it?" He's asking me a question, and I'm struck by just how thick his blonde eyebrows are. And they're just as expressive as the rest of him, which is so very nice.

"No," I say. "It's aluminium, so it's strong but light. It's just a few bolts here and there." And Link taps against the wall with a nice big knuckle, listening as it answers him in dull thumps. He's checking for studs and seeing if it's hollow. I know that. It's just been forever since I watched a man do some housework and I missed it.

"I'm sure that'll be fine, Wii." Link gives me a smile before setting the bar down. And oh,  _hello there_ , because his tunic slips up just a little bit as he bends over, and the peek of tanned, toned flesh I have is just teasing. "Anything else you'll need help with?"

"Some of it," I say. "But mainly this. The rest are all just small and collapsible for ease. They shouldn't be a problem. All whisper quiet, too."

"Even this one?" I'm not surprised that he's taken an interest in my little step platform. It looks like something Samus would carry into battle – simple and black but packing a hefty motor inside it. Nothing too absurd, but if you didn't know what you were looking at, well, yeah. And I bit my lip and try a little harder to look coy because I don't quite want to reveal that it vibrates and I step up and down on it. And sometimes sit on it if I'm feeling a little hot and bothered…

"It's a personal one, Link," I say instead. "For steps and stretches. I have to put in some real work to look like I do, you know."

He chuckles that rich, throaty chuckle of his. And he's ducking his head and peeking up from behind those light bangs of hair in a cute way, too.

"I find that hard to believe." There's no way he talks in such a low tone usually, and it makes my insides do a little flip. Oh no, the hot, young man might be flirting with me.  _Whatever_  will I do?

… wait, what will I do? The last time anyone paid much attention to me was my doctor when he cleared me to enter these Smash fight things. And the time before that was… I can't really remember.

Oh, now I'm a little sad.

"Well, you're sweet for thinking so," I tell the handsome younger man. "But I'm in my thirties. And you can't tell me I don't look it, either." But please try to.

"I beg to differ." Bless you, baby. "I'd say you look after yourself and it shows quite a bit. So don't go telling yourself off, okay?" I roll my eyes and smile a little. I can't help it. I'm a woman, and we all enjoy being told we look good. It's basic science. And I'm personally enjoying being admired by a man who's… how old  _is_  he, anyway?

"Well, aren't you a polite young man for saying that." It's a hook. I know it, and he must know it too with how he's smiling that warm smile of his and chuckling again. "Saying a lady of my age looks nice…"

"I'm twenty-two," he tells me. A good twelve years my junior. But old enough to buy alcohol and fight in these matches and work full time and assemble my balance bar without a shirt on, my ovaries remind me. "And I'm pretty sure you're not even in your prime yet. Shouldn't a fitness teacher know that?"

"You've got me there." Oh, and now he's got me grinning at him. But it's okay because he's grinning back, showing off that handsome smile and fresh blue eyes. Link has a nice-looking face, I think. It's strong and rugged.

It would be perfect for sitting on, too.

"I left my tools downstairs, sorry." He looks sorry too, and I suddenly want to tell him it's fine. I'm sure I can come up with some way he can make it up to me, after all. "It's a little late but if you want I can try and put this together tomorrow for you? For being so late, I mean."

I bite my lip a little more and tilt my head. It's some silly, teenage look, but I can't help but think it looks a little cute and innocent.

"I'm sure I've got some tools around here somewhere…" Like the bedroom, maybe. I gaze up at him with far too much desire than I ought to have for a man I've recently met. For one who'll paying me visits every time a light blows, or I may even find myself sparring against from time to time. But fuck it. I want him. And Link smiles that playful smile of his, and I know he's thinking of me, too.

"I'm sure you do." My bare toes curl just a little bit on the hardwood. It's that deep, rough rumble again from within his chest. That voice that men have when they're interested in more than just putting up some fitness equipment for the MILF upstairs. Christ, I just thought of him calling me a MILF in that voice, and I can already feel my insides warming up.

"But I'll have to take a rain-check until later, I'm afraid. It looks like a big job, and I want to give it the time and attention it needs."

Christ on his throne. So, before I was a little excited, and maybe a slight anxious. Now I'm just  _wet_. Because the handsome younger man just hinted that he wants me and he's able to wait for it. Part of me is just floored. Like… don't young men have quickies, anymore? Is it normal for the older, attractive, fitness teachers in yoga clothes to offer to take them to bed? Shouldn't he have one hand between my legs and the other on my breast, already?

And instead, he's leaving me hanging. He wants me, and he's going to wait, and I don't think my nipples have gotten so damned hard so fast in years. And Link gives me another smile, a little bit more knowing this time, and my pussy just  _pulses_  with want..

"Of course," I say. I offer him my little smile. "Later, then." I don't tell him I'm looking forward to it. And I am. I already want to pull that tunic off and taste a man's chest for the first time in years.

Christ, Trainer. Calm your tits. Literally. And ovaries, too. When I met him, I thought he was a baby. Now he's pushed me away just a little bit, and he's proven to be more of a man than nearly every guy I've ever met. A lean, younger, handsome and virile man.

"Enjoy your evening, Wii," Link says with another smile as he heads to my door. "And sorry again for the lateness. I'll make it up to you." My toes and my vagina both  _clench_  with that little promise. And then he's out the door and closing it, and I'm letting out a breath I didn't know I was even holding.

Christ. My heart is pounding. I can't think of the last time I've been this… excited about anything. Or anyone. My needy, aching clit is already begging for attention, and I have to resist cupping the bump of my smooth peach and giving it a little pat. Shhh, patience, pet. You'll get your lovey's sooner than later.

It occurs to me that I spent the day trying to put together my home for work use and that I was only going to look like the kind of older woman that young men have always fantasised about. I didn't actually expect to be getting bent over my kitchen bench and filled up by some eager student.

That doesn't stop me from thinking of Link unzipping and having his way with me. And  _God_ , but I want it.

It doesn't stop me from remembering him wishing me to have a good evening in that rough, scratchy voice of his.

When the hell did it become evening?

It's a mistake when I look at my clock because all the fun, energetic fantasies I have fly out the window. And all I can think is ' _fuck_ ,' and not in the fun, frenzied, long-forgotten way.

"Fuck. Fucking fuck.  _Fuck_."

I say it a lot too. I'm a single woman. I can do whatever I want. Except for right now, because I have to put a jacket around my shoulders and get my shoes on and get my counterpart's fucking massage table downstairs and across a quadrangle or two and up a few flights of stairs. And I had to do it about… an hour ago.

Fuck partners. And sharing equipment. And younger, tall and tanned long-eared fighter babes who make you lose track of time. Fuck them all: just in very different definitions.

* * *

 

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. I'm only thinking it, though. I'm too busy baring my teeth and growling to talk, and not in a good way. In the "I've lugged this shitting table all this way for nothing" way. If I believed in the divine, I'd say my male counterpart had somehow known I've had some flattering compliments from a younger man and decided to disappear early. But I don't, and he can't, and I chalk today up as merely a quiet one. Or as quiet as it can get when I've carried this massive table so far, only to turn around and bring it home again.

I'd just buy the thing off of him, but he stubbornly wants  _this_   _one_ To just… keep sharing it, no less.

I try not to overthink about the other trainer. It's hard when I'm getting tired muscles from lugging this table past so many stages and buildings. Instead, I think about enjoying a nice, hot shower and a glass of wine. And maybe some candles and my "neck" massager for company. Or I could call maintenance and complain that the hot water is broken and I need someone with long elf-ears to look after it immediately. That could work, too.

I know I'm not going to do it, though. Part of me respects a man who can wait. Part of me just doesn't want to cave in first. Either way, I've got a lovely, empty apartment to do some stretches and yoga in. Going through a routine is ambrosia for a frustrated woman.

Speaking of, the doors of my lodging complex look like the gates of heaven itself. The glass, automatic gates of paradise. I'm counting the steps until I'm in and over the lobby until I get to the elevator and can put this damned thing down for a while. Sure, a good massage table has to be strong to support a relaxed person, but come on!

The little  _ding_! of the lift arriving has never sounded so dulcet sweet. Finally the doors open.

Oh,  _come on_. Of course, I run into Mister Handsome. After lumping around a huge table, I'm sure I must look more than a little red in the face. Oh, look, there I am in the mirror of the lift. Hi, Wii Fit. Some of your hair has come loose from your ponytail, babe.

But it's not all bad news. Link looks like he's just finished wrestling both the giant turtle and some building support made of brick and cement. That's it. He's single-handedly kept the complex from caving in, and he looks it, with sweat across his brow and his top two buttons undone. Mm, and yet it's still a pretty sexy chest.

"Enjoyed the evening, then?" he asks.

"About as much fun as yours." I'm giving myself points for coming up with that so fast because really it's  _very easy_  to be distracted by the bit of tanned chest that's peeking out from that open collar of his. But I have to give Link points too because already he's taken my table off of me and he's pulling it into the lift.

And on the third day, the sexy Hylian doth took my burden as his own.

"I'll take it from here." He's already pushed the button to my floor, and I tell myself that  _of course_  he's memorised the number. How could he possibly be awake and not think of the gorgeous, fit, older fantasy that's working out above him? I even forget how un-sexy I might look just then and allow him a friendly smile, thanking the dear man for his help. A little gift, for I am a merciful Goddess.

"You're a Saint, Link," I say as he carries it all the way to my door. And he gives me that warm, deep chuckle again. My massager will definitely get some attention later that evening, I'm sure.

"Where would you like me to put it?" Link held it up like it was nothing, and I'm not ashamed to say that I immediately wondered if I was roughly the same weight as the blasted thing. But for now, I shook my head.

"It's fine. I can take it from here." I went to take it from him. But he wouldn't let go.

"I don't mind." He insisted. And there was that rich, textured tone again. I could feel my insides growing a little warmer and tingly already.

"You just want an excuse to come in, don't you?" I flashed him a wink. It was playful. I was joking. But he just bit into one of those firm lips of his and grinned and looked away. Oh, and how beautiful it looked, too.

"Well, I did offer to come back and help with your apartment."

Desire. That's what I saw on his face. It's what I felt deep down as my pearl began to stir and stiffen. I reached up to the open neck of his collar and placed my fingers along the smooth curve of his clavicle. God, his skin is so hot and I just want to run my tongue over it.

"I don't see you carrying any tools, Link." My voice was smooth and velvety soft. I was torturing the poor boy, now, and he knew it. He gave me another of those handsome laughs and looked a little shy. I wanted to push him, though. I wanted to feel him leaning down and taking my earlobe between his teeth. Needed to hear him growl how he couldn't stop thinking of me. Wanted him to whisper every filthy thing he craved from my firm, fit body.

"I can help you look for yours," he hummed. And then he gave me a look, deep and smouldering and I can almost feel him fucking me with his eyes. A hot flush ran through my chest and headed down to my thighs. My pussy gushed with wet arousal. "Can I come in, Wii?"

Good enough for me. I couldn't make him say "please." My vagina wouldn't let me. So I slid my key in, unlocked the door and allowed him back into my little studio.

"Put it in the middle of the room," I told him as I locked the door behind us both. "And be a dear and put it up for me…?" I waited until that broad, handsome back was turned before I slipped away into my bedroom. My shoes and socks were off as soon as I was in. I dumped my jacket on the floor. I'll fix it all up tomorrow.

Tomorrow was the first day of something-something. Tonight was about having some fun.

"You work fast," I said, padding back out of my bedroom. It's not like it's complicated to set those tables up, but they're heavy and annoying. But Link is big and strong and used to building stuff with those great hands of his.

"Planning on keeping it?" he asked.

"For tonight." I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against it. It's good and low, and I watched him drop down onto his fine ass on the bench. And I'm on him a second later, lifting one of my knees to sit on his lap while I lean down and taste those gorgeous fucking lips of his. They're hot and moist and firm, and  _God_   _damn_  if he isn't already kissing me back. Already I can feel one of those muscular arms of his around my waist and pull me forward. There's a hot, bold tongue flicking over my lips and it's enough to make my mind turn to cotton.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you." That voice of his is now a grunt. It's thick and rough, and it makes me blush from my cheeks to my pussy. I drunkenly think how I was actually right in the lift. Go me.

"Tell me," I say. Okay. I  _growl_. I demand it. I want this pretty, firm man to tell me exactly what he's been thinking. He's young and handsome, and I'm the hot older single fitness girl, and I want him to have had constant erections thinking about my firm body naked before him. "Tell me just what you want to do to me."

"I need to taste your every inch." His hands are on the back of my compression pants, and I can feel him pulling them down. There's a little puff of air over my ass and I know he's yanked my thong down at the same time, and then those long fingers and massaging my tight muscles just divinely. And I fucking moan, not from how long it's been and how full his hands are, but from how much he  _wants me_.

"We're overdressed." It's not sexy, and I don't care. I can feel him already. Link is nice and hard and grinding up against the front of my pants, and I want my clothes off, and his clothes off and I want to lick his chest. I want to ride this young stud and come all over him on my prick of a partner's massage table.

Link must be of the same mind. He's already working on that little problem. My tank top is up and off in a flash of blue cotton and  _oh fucking gold_! My mouth hangs open, and I can only make some illicit noise while he licks between my alabaster tits and takes an aching hard nipple into his hot mouth. And sweet mercy, he knows just what to do. No hard pulls or twists. Only those sinful lips and lots of gentle pressure. I can feel his teeth scraping me and it sends a fresh flush of slickness to my pussy.

"Oh, baby, gimme  _more_." I need to encourage this good-looking man. He's doing so well and he's only just started and it's been so, so long, and I need so much attention. I feel those excellent broad hands under my ass, and suddenly I'm up in the air. My bare feet are just dangling there as he holds me up. I barely grin with victory as I look down at my counterpart's stupid table. I knew I was lighter than that damned thing…

I squeal and smile as Link drops me down against it. Okay – the damn thing is comfier than I remember. Which is good because he's yanking those belts and emerald tunic off and I go weak in the knees. I'm not getting up any time soon.

"I want you so fucking bad, WII." He hovers over me. One big, powerful arm leans beside my head as he kisses me and I sigh. I play with that messy, golden hair of his. He smells vaguely of sweat and masculinity, and I'm getting lightheaded from it all. He's so much younger, but still such a man and I want him to make me feel like a woman.

"Well." My voice is hoarse. My lips are thick and dry. All my wetness is dripping between my legs. "Take me, baby." He slides those strong, long fingers under the waist of my compression pants and – " _Fuck_!" I didn't think it was possible to peel those damned things off so fast. There were there, hot and tight, and a second later my legs are long and bare, and he's throwing my thong and my pants behind him and –

I can't breathe or talk or  _anything_. Everything's hot and wet. And magical. I can feel my heels on some of the most toned back muscles I've ever laid eyes on. Those skilled hands are on my inner thighs. But it's nothing compared to the very eager tongue and lips lavishing over my slippery pussy. All I can do is howl and whine and wriggle beneath Link's grip, and pull that lovely hair and beg to whatever God is listening that he doesn't stop anytime soon.

"I could lick you all evening." I look down, past my tits and my panting chest and my trembling tummy and my thighs. My smooth, bare mound is just flushed with blood and arousal. It's my pretty peach, and this handsome man is devouring me like I'm the most succulent fruit he's ever tasted. I've made his hair so messy with my hands. I've made his mouth even messier. He's so wet and panting and  _Christ_  –

"Fuck me," I order him. I beg him. I need those pants off of him. I need those big, powerful hands holding me down. "I need your cock inside me now, Link!"

Oh, that grin he gives me is sinful. It's too cocky and handsome, and it needs to be kissed off of him. But not just yet. I can't move. My legs are trembling. My core is dripping. All I can do is pant and wait and watch while he bends over and pushes those blasted trousers down already.

And bite my lip when he finally shows what he's been hiding from me. Hiding  _for_  me. Young men grow them big these days, I think. Big and thick and wet with precum and just bobbing there, waiting dangerously for me to have my wicked way with it.

I don't even notice when he's picked up my feet and started rubbing my soles, or when he's lifted my legs up to bend over those hard, broad shoulders. I'm only really aware when I see him take that big, beautiful dick in his hand and leans forward and –

"…!"

I bite my lip and whine. I feel him slide over my clit easily. He's hot and wet and just as hard as I am there, and every little touch sends liquid fire into my tummy. He teases me and I want to smack him. Bite him. Sink my teeth into that thick, smooth shoulder muscle and make him cry my name, until finally, blessedly, I feel him move lower. Lower…

"… oh,  _fuck_." I don't know what noise I just made. All I know is I can finally feel that gorgeous cock pushing inside me. Link is big and thick and I'm so slippery wet that he just glides inside me. My long-neglected folds just spread around his girth. My pussy engulfs him. He stretches me and I feel so amazingly full for the first time in what feels like forever. Those great square hips of his are finally butting against mine.

"You're so amazing, Wii." Link is hovering over me, now. I can feel him twitching inside my hot depths. Dear God, he's so young and handsome and I could eat him up.

I just might if he leaves me with enough energy.

"Don't stop, baby." I shift my hips and feel him move. Little shocks dance from where he brushes my clit with his hard body, sending happy, tiny fireworks up my legs and through my lungs. I'm rolling my hips and I can't help it. I need him to move. To tell me just how good I am.

"You're so fit and sexy." He thrusts, and I hum. God, he's good. I'm going to dedicate a little shrine in my bathroom to the landlord with the majestic cock. "You're clever. You're funny. You're  _gorgeous_."

Now I'm clenching around him. I expected the usual stuff of being told I'm hot and wet. Not…  _this_. He gives me another hard thrust, and I feel those heavy balls of his smacking against my bare ass. I'm not moaning anymore. I'm groaning, growling. I'm pulling him against my hips and demanding he fucks me for all I'm worth. I feel like some great Goddess that's being worshipped by a fantastic acolyte. He dips his head to lick my throat, and I grab at his hair and demands that he sucks.

He sucks, alright. My toes curl, and my pussy clenches and I see my apartment in white-hot bursts. His burning lips and teeth are going to mark my pale neck, and I let him do it. He's thrusting harder and deeper into me, and I'm just taking it all, lifting my hips to let him push deep and brush that beautiful, blissful spot inside me that makes me see stars.

This stupid table is creaking a little, and I love it. My partner's getting it back wet and messy after I've been thoroughly fucked by this amazing young man.

"Harder." I'm gasping. My lungs are singing. My heart's pounding. My pussy is bursting. My  _everything_  is tight and trembling. I need him to move nice and hard and deep because "I'm so close…"

"Wii…" I feel that tongue of his on my throat. Feel those large hands along my breasts and down my side. Christ, what shade of blue are his eyes? They're hot and staring at me, and he's licking those lips of his. "Cum for me, babe. All over my cock. Fucking  _cum_."

Link rolls his hips. He grinds. Shoves. Thrusts. Fucks. And I pull his hair and curl up tight and cry his name as everything burns hot and beautiful. Stars burst behind my eyes. My toes and feet curl. My pussy clenches and trembles and gushes and I groan as I shake and come for him. Come all over his cock.

I fucking  _come_ , and everything tingles and I can't remember the last time I felt so damned good and alive. I can only wrap my arms around his broad back muscles and pull at him. Mm, and he's moving again. Link is grunting my name and driving that stunning prick of his in and out of my wet, trembling peach, and I know he's chasing his climax.

"That's it." I'm gentle and encouraging. I coo his name and tell him to hurry up. "It's your turn. Come on… I want your big dick to come for me…"

Link growls and thrusts and withdraws from my tender body. And then he's above me, and I watch him with curious fascination. He wraps a fist around that slick, greasy cock that's just given me my most powerful orgasm in years. I lick my lips and hum as he pumps it into a frenzy. I watch it twitch. See the smooth, wide head swell.

"Wii!"

My title has never sounded sweeter as it does when Link hits his peak. Thick cords of pearly come fly from his tip, splashing from my breasts to my clit, burning the flesh of my tight tummy. My handsome young helper hisses and whines as I take him in my hand and hold him, allowing the rest of his eager seed to fall on me.

I am a fucking MILF Goddess, graciously accepting a tribute from my eager devotee. At least that's how I feel, languishing there in my apartment. On my partner's blasted massage table. Hot and naked and wet from a younger man.

"You really are a healthy one," I murmur. My voice is suddenly dry and I'm so thirsty. I need water and a shower. Or a cuddle and a blanket.

"I just wanted to impress you." Link is laughing again. That nice, rough chuckle that's so honest and masculine. He does impress me when he leans down and kisses me so sweetly. I just know he's smearing his own come over his fine, defined front and it's so refreshing to think that a young man isn't so turned off by his own seed.

I could lick it off him if I weren't so damned tired.

"What do you do for an encore?" I'm not too tired to flirt with him, of course. Come on. That would be ridiculous.

"Well. I still have to help you set your thingy up." He makes some tired gesture towards the pieces of my balance bar and I hum. Oh, well. I wasn't expecting breakfast in bed or anything. "But maybe a drink and a shower, first. I can wash your back if you like. And your front."

He's aiming those glittering blue eyes at me, and they look so mischievous again. My little peach, wet and tired, still manages to do a little tremble of joy.

"There's wine in the salad drawer," I tell him. "Glasses in the top cupboard." Link flashes me a grin and he pads off, naked and sweaty and gorgeous. I enjoy every second of his bare ass winking at me until he disappears around the corner of my kitchenette.

There's hope for him, yet.


End file.
